


Unreality

by LegendofMajora



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Romance, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:13:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4256007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendofMajora/pseuds/LegendofMajora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shizuo has a hard time with coming to terms with reality when it's easy to blame Izaya and pretend it didn't happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unreality

Izaya knows him more than he really should. He's seen him from the humiliation of wandering down the street soaked in blood that's his and not and mixing with other fluids from white to yellow and other colors that trickle down his thighs. At first he's a mess of things and he'll never be able to see past that, not in the moments it takes for Izaya to saunter up, ask him what he could possibly have done, _Shizu-chan,_ and then he passes out.

The worst part about waking up in the mornings nowadays is knowing he's not the same. Not after the lengthy fight with Izaya and finding himself in an unknown place with posh furniture and a bed soaked in sweat instead of blood. He makes hasty accusations, all of them angry and he can't stop thinking Izaya did it it's his fault the flea the bastard he—he—he did all of this to him for a stupid game that took itself too far because the prize was just too tempting. It doesn't matter if Izaya says he doesn't have any involvement because Shizuo _remembers_ the whispers of his name in the roars of grunts and slapping skin and his fingers snapping when they try everything under hitting him with an eighteen-wheeler.

"Shizu-chan," Izaya says, and it's the damn nickname that grates the pools of blood in his ears that just won't wash off. "Shizu-chan," he says like he's innocent and he's got this look in the pools of blood he has for eyes and the curve of a frown—suits him more than the mocking laugh in a smirk—Izaya's a manipulative bastard and he'll never sit still when Shizuo fights his way out the door and he's covered in dried blood with clothes slashed to bits. He looks like a freak show even more as he stumbles down the hallway to an elevator and Izaya is right behind him, calling his nickname and he sounds like he's teetering on the borderline of laughter and something that could have been pity.

He could have just gone home that night. He could've ignored the sounds of a fight, ignored that kids do this shit all the time and maybe it's not a bad idea to look because of course it was and he's trying to tell a story in one breath when Izaya asks and it all amounts to the same of _fuck off_ (that's what he told them, tried to tell them, but they were there and they and they—) before his eyes turn into stars bursting from the back of his head and he's down and there isn't any hope of getting back up when he feels the prick of a needle at the nape of his neck and it's all downhill tumbling down moving fast trying to pick himself back up every time they kick him down and—

"Shizuo," Izaya holds him back up, breathing sweat and fear and blood and all the things that aren't made of monsters and certainly don't make them. The way Izaya says his name makes him freeze even though his heart's thudding in his ears and it's been trampled on enough times but this is the final straw where it's freeze-drying into shattered little pieces. His breath is sweet and sour and the words he says are like a venom and Shizuo knows that he's hard to trust even more despite the fact they're supposed to be closer than deadly strangers.

He doesn't want—doesn't need the kisses that taste sweet and sour and bitter with ashes and his stomach turns at the thought of a cigarette. Maybe nicotine would calm his nerves if he could just put the stupid thing in his mouth but borrowing from a stranger seems overrated and he doesn't have anything to him except bloody clothes and souvenirs of being taken down from monster to aberration. Izaya holds him up and he's saying something that sounds loud like waves crashing into bedrock and he's never been able to forgive this in the short amount of time he's been conscious. Izaya can choose to forgive him if he wants because he can make accusations of cheating just like Shizuo _knows_ but he's not sure that Izaya did this to him to drive a twisted point to the curve of one canine that pokes out whenever he smiles.

And waking up again in Izaya's bedroom means his tentatively-named-title-ripped boyfriend is waiting for him, sitting in a chair and not anywhere near him because he's dangerous like a wild animal. Fangs bared and the idiot has never gotten the hint between flirting with him and kissing him in broad daylight when it's convenient for him. He always chooses the funniest times to show himself like he does now.

Izaya's talking—saying something and Shizuo hasn't been listening about rape and rage and that—

"Shizuo, I didn't have anything to do with it."

Rage boils in his skin and the fury wires his jaw shut because he feels humiliated and he knows that his boyfriend is the one who cleaned him up this tidy because he's always had that quirk of obsessive cleanliness. Shizuo remembers this dull feeling of wanting his boyfriend and maybe perhaps needing him once upon a long time ago in a different world with a different Shizu-chan.

"Then maybe you shouldn't have done anything at all." Shizuo hisses and he sounds so unlike himself, broken shards of whatever feelings he's spared for this lunatic who's deranged enough to keep himself caged with a wild animal even if the bedroom door is open. He never should have trusted him, never let himself get carried away by feelings and wanting more affection because he's never expected anyone to love him, to care about him more than they care about having his bills paid for the damage that comes from his hands.

And he's fucked this up too, going by the frown that stays on Izaya's face and the shift in his body language that means he wants to be closer to his boyfriend or whatever the fuck Shizuo is to him if not a toy to throw around. "I didn't know, Shizu-chan, I..." but apologies and excuses are endless when Shizuo's eyes are not Shizuo's when they're wild and sharp and full of empty holes and empty things Izaya can promise to him when _Shizuo_ isn't here. He shakes his head and he knows he means well but some things are lost on monsters made out of humans and empty shells stirred up and brought to life.

"I know it's a lost cause," Izaya finally says when Shizuo is calmed down enough to not feel like Shizuo but he's quiet, eerily so as he watches Izaya move and he keeps his fingers curled into fists when the regular Shizuo would want to hold him now. "But you have to believe me. I never tried to hurt you."

Shizuo laughs, something cold and cackling that hitches in his throat and by the time Izaya gets up to leave he wonders when this started.

The sounds stick in his throat, throbbing in his brain well throughout sleeping an entire day away and then waking up because Izaya's in his room, watching him from the same chair with those pity eyes and he doesn't have to say they're breaking up, Izaya gets the point and he shouldn't look so pitiful when he excuses himself for the night and he says they will talk tomorrow. Psh, like that's going to be worth anything when it's all his—denying it won't get him anywhere. Shizuo knows better than to trust that lecherous smile of his even if it's marred by the signs of a frown that permeates for longer than usual.

Izaya doesn't leave early this time after silence and refusing to talk. Instead he gets up, both of them refusing to acknowledge the tense shudder that coils in Shizuo's legs and he tightens his hold on himself. It's probably the reason they're not getting anywhere and in some corner of a backward state of mind maybe thinking that—nonsense. Stupid shit, that's all.

"You're not in any state to go back to your apartment, Shizu-chan." Izaya mentions and it's a bare sort of skimming the surface of an insult, not really there. He has been sounding tired lately, more so than Shizuo recalls. "And I doubt you want Shinra to take a look at you. You don't have to say anything to me if you want to be that way." And then an accusation, spotting it in between saccharine words and Shizuo scowls, reminded that he's relying on the apology of someone he was meant to trust at some point in time and now the tables are turning.

The moments like this where he feels helpless are reminiscent of concrete and blood and other slippery surfaces, the part where he's supposed to black out reality and not face that he's still relying on a stupid form of hope instead of going home and forgetting this ever happened. And he does want to blame it on Izaya because it's convenient the same way Izaya keeps coming back here and giving him more than he deserves when he's been (broken by men who are monsters and yet he's a monster) through too much to handle.

"Then you shouldn't be so fucking two-faced," he snaps, fingers eager to rip the expensive sheets of Izaya's bed apart and more hesitant to try to. "'Cause you're not helping anyone but yourself. Was that all you wanted in the first place, flea?"

Izaya's head cocks to the side, a flicker of the lamp's light darting across his eyes and the same feral look that's there is creepy as it is mocking. But he's not smirking, no rip of teeth bared and laughing, congratulating him for finally figuring it out.

His expression is unreadable. "Figure it out for yourself, Shizu-chan."

The silence after the door clicks shut is defeating.

**Author's Note:**

> This is somewhat of a foreshadow for an upcoming story, Pretty Bruises, which is the sequel to Rage. So I recommend reading it if you really want to, though I do warn you all it's not fluffy and sweet. Ha, what have I been turning into?
> 
> Thank you for reading. ꒒ ০ ⌵ ୧ ♡


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